Mariposa`s Song

Behind cold bars and closed doors
where you can't tell day from night,
time squeezes seconds into minutes,
days into weeks, weeks into years.

Occasionally a match is lit
and glimpses of casted shadows
leave the walls, come forward
to whistle Mariposa's song,
the Black Witch.

Whispers bring to life a long forgotten story
of an undecided widow, a devil in disguise,
condemned to die by her offended suitors,
whose egos succumbed to their wounded pride.

Her only faults were shattered faith and self-withdrawn;
nevertheless she was brought to court,
accused of witchcraft and insanity,
charged and looked with jaundiced eyes;
needless to say the judges were unfair.

During the trial she stood still,
gilded in her wedding shroud,
she never spoke, nor looked afraid.

Tears never welled up her eyes,
she seemed absent-minded, far-away;
no one recalled a sight or cry for help.

Some believed she took a silence vow,
others claimed her spirit was on different realms
where she could witness the birth of clouds.

The callous wigs have locked her up,
never again she saw a ray of light-
the stoned wall of her wretched cell
served as her only friend, a quiet listener.

She spend the days living completely in her mind,
seeming unaware of those who tried to gain her trust,
ignoring guards who visited only to saturate their lust,
until one day when she disappeared,
leaving behind nothing but a sorrow moth.

Rumours told about devil casting a spell,
allowing her to change shape and transcend
to the realm where she was already half present.

Locals feared she'd return for vengeance,
that she'd entrapped their souls with her venom,
preventing them from reaching God's heaven.

To save their souls, in the nights,
they hunted down butterflies and moths,
burnt them singing gospels and old chants.

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@2020 Lavi Picu aka Lyme Poet. All rights reserved.